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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465521">Dreams of Night City</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatchamajig/pseuds/whatchamajig'>whatchamajig</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussion of Terrorism, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Mystery, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Temporary Amnesia, Trans Male Character, Trans Male V (Cyberpunk 2077), Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:27:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatchamajig/pseuds/whatchamajig</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Night City fights dirty, and if you aren't willing to do the same you might as well suck start your pistol.</p><p>On Christmas Day V wakes up in the bed of Night City's living legends, Kerry Eurodyne and Johnny Silverhand. He has no memory of the night before, or the night before that, or the night before that. In fact, all he can remember is his name, and how to shoot a gun. </p><p>With the help of the two rockerboys V has to figure out who he is and why he is where he is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alt Cunningham/Johnny SIlverhand (past relationship), Johnny Silverhand/Male V, Kerry Eurodyne/Johnny Silverhand, Kerry Eurodyne/Male V, Kerry Eurodyne/Male V/Johnny silverhand, Rogue Amendiares/Johnny Silverhand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>187</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Doll</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i need to stress that the sex scene in this chapter is extremely dubious, and could border on non-consensual due to the nature of this fic. please continue on at your own risk.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christmas in Night City is always a chore. Everyone and their mother gets dressed up, dyeing their skin and changing up the LED lights on their cyberware. Fuck, even Jig -Jig street went all out with the joytoys wearing candy cane dicks and every nipple having an ornament pierced through it. Shops of all kind are packed to the brim with people trying to get their last minute shopping in and every fucking channel has some corporate show or commercial talking about the holiday spirit. Johnny hates it all. </p><p>The media is wrapping up her segment, smiling at the camera while Johnny does his ‘signature grimace’. All the lights and cameras are blinding in a way that they had never been when Johnny was on stage, but he wasn’t sure if it was the age or the jadedness that got to him. Rogue would say the first, Kerry the latter. </p><p>23wq1wq3sr“And I’d like to say thank you once again, Johnny, for meeting me on Christmas Eve.” The way she says his name makes his stomach roll, too familiar in a way no one 's been in a long time. “My name is Jean Value, and this has been One Hour.”</p><p>Johnny barely waits for the recording lights on the cameras to go off before he’s out of his chair, shooting off like a bullet. His boots click across the ground as he crosses the floor, outpacing his publicist before they have a chance to stop him and tell him that he should play nice, get to know the current media representative because they could help him. Fuck that and fuck them. Bad enough Value and her network had insisted on interviewing him on Christmas Eve, but he wasn’t about to stick around.</p><p>The Caliburn roars to life as Johnny approaches, having finally lost the fleet of people following him when he opted for the stairs rather than the elevator. Fuckers wouldn’t know what actual exercise was if it punched them square in the face. </p><p>Sliding into the driver’s seat Johnny waits until the windows retint to smack his head against the headrest, giving himself three seconds before repeating the motion a few times, groaning all the while. He didn’t want to be here. </p><p>“Call Rogue.” The control panel chirps to life, bright lights flashing as it loads his request. It gets a ring and a half before the call connects.“Rogue here.” Rogue isn’t there, and instead Johnny is treated to the back bar of Afterlife. The green and cyan lights that are normally blinding seem softer without pounding music and screaming solos to boost it. Rogue’s favorite colors, even after all these years.</p><p>“Hey,” Johnny starts as he opens his glove box and grabs the pack of cigarettes inside. “You open?”</p><p>“It’s Christmas Eve, Johnny. What the fuck do you think?” Afterlife closes every Christmas Eve and Day like clockwork. Every solo, fixer, and average slum-slunger was thrown out at 5 A.M. on Christmas Eve, the doors were closed and locked, and Rogue sends her staff home with a bonus. Tradition, she had once told Johnny. Night City might be shit but she could try to make it better for those she cared about on at least one holiday. </p><p>“I was hoping that you could make an exception for your good friend Johnny. Maybe break out a bottle of that shitty wine that you like so much, get drunk and see where we go.” He doesn’t want to be alone tonight. Not really. </p><p>“My wine isn’t shit, you just don’t have taste.” Rogue’s head comes into view now, finally standing up from behind the bar with her hands on her hips. Bathed in the lights of the bar she looks ethereal, worthy of being a muse if Johnny’s seen one in recent years. She’d flatline him without a second thought if he ever told her. Rogue bends down to get a better look at the screen and her brows pinch together. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”</p><p>Self conscious Johnny runs a hand through said hair, grimacing when it takes a mere second not to reach the end. He’d wanted a change, one he could have complete control of and he’d seen how nice Kerry looks with short hair. Fans out the fucking ass, lining up to stuffit and declare their eternal love. Johnny isn’t a liar, not even to himself, and is more than willing to admit that he misses the flock of adorning people camping outside his villa. He’s still got his fame, yeah, you don’t avoid attention by threatening to blow up Arasaka Tower, but it’s different.</p><p>“Nothing. Can I come over?”</p><p>“No.” Rogue peers at him, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back. She looks somewhere off camera. “Claire! Emmerick! Come look at Johnny’s gonk haircut.”</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ, Rogue you massiv- Hi Claire.” Johnny likes the bartender, she’s witty and keeps her mouth shut about all the shit that comes through Afterlife. Her brown eyes look Johnny over a few times before she swings a hand back, landing a solid smack against Rogue’s thigh.</p><p>“He looks fine, you look fine Johnny. Emmerick! Tell him he looks fine.” The bouncer grunts from somewhere close and fuck it, Johnny will take it.</p><p>“Why can’t I come over? It’s Christmas Eve, I want to spend it with someone.” </p><p>“So call Kerry because I have plans for the night and they don’t involve you.” Johnny flicks the finger and she returns it. The two of them glower at each other for a few seconds before letting out a laugh, Rogue leaning back against the back bar and Johnny slouching some in his seat. “I’m serious though. Go spend it with Kerry, I’m sure he’d love to have you for a holiday.”</p><p>“Nah, he knows the agreement: you get the holidays and alternating weekends.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, remind me to take him back to court. He can have full custody and I’ll pay the child support.” Johnny lets out a mocking wounded sound, slapping his palm against his chest. Rogue doesn’t react, just gives him a sardonic smile before her line cuts out. What a bitch.</p><p>Waiting for a few minutes Johnny lets the rejection from Rogue settle before dialing Kerry. The line rings once. Twice. Three times, and maybe the man isn’t home. This wouldn’t be the first holiday Johnny’s spent with nothing but his hand for company. </p><p>The line dials through. Kerry is there, lying on the couch with his head propped up on a fist while he flicks idly through tv stations.</p><p>“Rogue throw you out?” Kerry says in a way of greeting.</p><p>“What? Am I not allowed to want to spend Christmas with my input?”</p><p>“We do talk, you know? Meet up every Sunday for brunch while you’re still asleep, and she sends me pics of the mercs who pass out at the bar. We talk almost daily.” Johnny lets out a curse. No one else he talked to had inputs and outputs who talked like his did. No one else had ‘puts like he did, sure, but what the fuck ever. </p><p>“That mean I can’t come over?” Some exotic with high heeled, animalistic feet struts past, reminding him that he was still in the parking garage. Typing in Kerry’s address he leans back as the car starts to move, driving the speed limit and everything because Rayfield had recently overridden any jailbreaking software. Cowards.</p><p>“Didn’t say that, asshole.” Kerry glances at him quickly and Johnny swears he can see the progress bar behind his eyes. “But you gotta pick up dinner. Pad thai or some shit, but order for three. I got a doll.”</p><p>It takes all of Johnny’s willpower not to slam on the brakes, cause a fifteen car pile up in the middle of Night City that a media will blame on a drunken bender. </p><p>“Why the hell would you get a doll? Jesus Kerry, the fuck would you want something like that?” </p><p>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kerry sits up, grabbing his phone and angling so that Johnny can see his face clearly. “Thought you were spending the night with Rogue and I wanted to spend the night on the couch with someone, maybe drink some real champagne and then get my dick wet.”</p><p>More than once both Rogue and Kerry had told Johnny that he was more than a little antagonistic towards sex workers, and more than once he’d told them both to fuck off. He didn’t hate people who sold his body and like fuck would he say that he’s never used services like that. It was just that he knew what he was getting with a joytoy or your typical run of the mill whore. But a fucking… Fuck.</p><p>“What did you even ask for?”</p><p>“A fan who’d suck my dick, no gag reflex needed.” Kerry says it like it’s the most casual thing in the world.</p><p>“And you couldn’t get one of your crazy fans to do that for you? Thought you had a cult following with the brats since that collab with Us Cranks.” The only good place in Night City to buy pizza was found on a street in Watson. Kerry hates it but he isn’t the one out buying pizza on Christmas Eve. The owner is quick to respond when Johnny shoots him a text, letting him know they’ll be out with his usual soon. </p><p>“You want every crazy fan in Night City to know where I am just because I wanted a free blowjob?” Johnny nods, letting out a shudder at the idea of a bunch of random idiots showing up at his door. He’d have loved the idea when he was younger, when he was able to keep himself going on stims and risers for days, but he’s nearing eighty-nine. He just wants to get off and then sleep, sue him. </p><p>“Whatever. Just… fine. Keep the front door unlocked.” The shop door opens, a pimply faced teenager carrying three large boxes running out and towards his car.</p><p>“You have a key.”</p><p>-----------</p><p>Kerry’s villa is let up like the fourth of July when Johnny arrives. Parking the Caliburn next to Kerry’s Outlaw he makes his way towards the front door, pausing only to make sure the external security system was activated and that both cars were locked. He didn’t know what house Kerry got his doll from but he wouldn’t pass those mini-corpo fucks to stake out and get what dirt they could. They couldn’t move independently of the law anymore.</p><p>A soft mechanical voice greets him as he enters, letting out a simple chime of <span>Welcome home, Johnny, </span>before vanishing, the only sound being the soft hum of the temperature regulator. Kerry liked it warm without being overpowering, never able to make up his mind so it bounces between seventy-five and eighty like clockwork. Johnny makes his way to the kitchen, plopping the pizzas on a countertop and taking a look around. Everything is in order, the only thing missing is the three champagne flutes from their place. </p><p>Laughter drifts up from the living room. Too… Johnny doesn’t want to say feminie, because it isn’t, but it lacks the roughness that comes from blowing your vocals one too many times. Johnny doesn’t wait for an invitation to join them, just drapes his jacket over a kitchen chair, takes off his boots and socks, and heads for the living room.</p><p>The first thing that Johnny notices is the doll. </p><p>He’s young, university age if Johnny had to take a guess. Age is hard to pinpoint in this day and age but sex workers with their biological faces and biological privates always sold for more. With a long face, high cheekbones, and long lashes Johnny can see the appeal. Dark hair has been cut into an undercut that frames his face nicely, drawing attention to pale, grey eyes and full lips that turn into a smile when he sees Johnny. </p><p>A flannel button up covers his top, sleeves rolled up to the elbow to show off well defined arms, though they’re obviously built for show rather than anything practical. He’s wearing jeans that must belong to someone thinner than him because Johnny can’t think of any logical reason he’d own those pants outside getting laid. He’s the most casually dressed doll he’s ever seen.</p><p>Kerry turns to him when he realizes he no longer has the doll’s attention, raising his glass in greeting. </p><p>“Wow,” The doll says breathlessly, hand on his breast. “I didn’t think you were actually going to show up.”</p><p>“What? You think I’d lie about something like that?” Kerry has the audacity to look offended at the implication. Johnny takes the seat on the other side of the doll, one arm draped over the back of the couch and behind him while the snatches up the glass of champagne Kerry had put out for him.</p><p>“No! No, not at all. I was just… cautious. I remember reading all the stories about how people would get your faces on their own and what not.” Johnny remembers that, remembers the lawyers and other vultures circling around when it came to copyrighting their own faces. What a fucking world. </p><p>“No trickery here, darling. Promise.” It's always been sweet promises with Kerry; promises of midnight rendezvous and wedding rings, to call when he was in the area and dinners that weren’t in shitty dives. Say what you want about Johnny but at least he was honest when he told someone he wouldn’t see them the next day.</p><p>The doll shuffles around until he’s facing the tv, stuck in between Kerry’s angling towards him and Johnny’s unmoveable frame. He feigns the starstruck look well, Johnny will give him that, unsure what’s the programming that comes with a doll’s chip and what’s genuine. </p><p>“I’m Vincent.” The doll says, letting himself be pulled back into Kerry when the older man wraps an arm around his shoulder. They’re a nice contrast, one pale and dark with the other tanned and blonde. “Really, it’s nice to meet you both. My mom listened to you all the time and always talked about how much she wanted your albums on records.”</p><p>“Mmm. What was her favorite?” Johnny brings a hand up to cup the back of Vincent’s head, watching Kerry’s hand run along his inner thigh, fingers toying at the seams of his pants. For his part Vincent inhales shakily, head doing small little twitches as he tries to figure out if he should be looking at Johnny or Kerry. </p><p>“She really liked the Ballad of Buck Ravers.” A strangled, half-assed laugh leaves Kerry at that, his head ducking down to tuck into Vincent’s neck. He pulls the shirt aside and licks a stripe from the middle of Vincent’s collarbone to just under his ear, nibbling the lobe once there. Johnny continues to hold Vincent’s head, rubbing his fingers against his scalp. The gesture might be for himself, might be for the doll, but it doesn’t matter he supposes. </p><p>This had been a mutual fantasy of theirs, Johnny won’t lie. Some soft, young and nubile thing nestled between the two of them, babbling about how much they love their work, their old work, not this new-age shit they’ve got playing on the radio, while they fucked them senseless. A doll wasn’t what Johnny wanted, he’d never been into the artificial like that, but like fuck they were going to find some kid who knew anything about Johnny Silverhand and Kerry Eurodybe that wasn’t found in the tabloids.</p><p>Kerry drags a hand up Vincent’s chest, skimming across his throat before cupping his chin, pressing his thumb against his lips. Vincent opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out and letting Kerry press it down before taking the digit without question when Kerry pushes it into his mouth.</p><p>“Open wider.” Kerry growls, and sticks his thumb in until it can go no farther. Vincent wraps his lips around it and sucks, hollowing his cheeks and letting out an obscene sound that causes Kerry and Johnny to groan in unison. Johnny digs his fingers into Vincent’s hair and jerks his head back, relishing in the way that Kerry follows to keep his thumb inside Vincent’s mouth. Johnny doesn’t even have to touch him and Kerry will do what he wants. </p><p>Without warning Johnny drops a hand down to Vincent’s crotch, giving it a firm squeeze that makes the doll arch, a strangled moan leaving him as he finds himself trapped between Kerry and Johnny. Deft, metal fingers pull at the buttons of Vincent’s pants, the three of them letting out breathless chuckles when a few go flying. Slipping his hand inside Johnny drags his hand across Vincent’s groin, grinding the palm of his hand against the area about Vincent’s clit and fingers curling, pressing the fabric of his boxers against his cunt.</p><p>“Like that?” Johnny murmurs, pressing his palm down harder and delighting in the way Vincent keens. Kerry slips his hand under Vincent’s shirt, fingers dragging up his skin until he reaches a nipple, pinching it with his forefinger and thumb.</p><p>“Think he’ll be good for us Johnny?” Kerry laughs before licking a stripe up Vincent’s neck. </p><p>“I’ll be good,” Vincent whines out before Johnny can respond, nipping lightly at Kerry’s thumb where it lingers close to his mouth. In retaliation Kerry slaps him lightly on the cheek before grabbing at Johnny’s hand, pulling it free and pushing Vincent backwards until he’s nearly lying down between the two of them. Kerry makes a demand of “Pants. Off.”, gesturing to the other two men, before working on his own and then tossing his shirt aside. Vincent needs no more ordering, shimming out of his pants and shirt without question while Johnny drags his pants down far enough to get his dick out. He keeps his shirt on, unwilling to take the Samurai tank off just yet.</p><p>Tangling his hand in Vincent’s hair Johnny drags him down, his cheek sliding across Johnny’s skin until he’s face to face with the older man’s cock. Johnny lets him adjust for a brief second before grabbing his cock with his other hand and pulling Vincent closer. Vincent shuffles some, body half turned, and places a kiss first to the base of Johnny’s cock and then trailing them upwards to the head, simply mouthing at it.</p><p>At Vincent’s other end Kerry reclines into the couch, dick in hand, and bumps his leg against one of Vincent’s. The movement disrupts the attention to Johnny and both men look at Kerry in displeasure.</p><p>“Nuh uh. I had to wait an extra thirty minutes for that asshole to show up to get this party started. I want to see someone fucked yesterday, not some blow job I could watch with a BD.” Vincent looks put out, upset that he isn’t going to use whatever better than average, not quite pro skill was uploaded into his brain, but the look is quickly replaced with one of surprise when Johnny moves, pushing him off of his lap to take his shirt off. He flings it somewhere behind them. </p><p>It takes some finagelling but Johnny eventually gets Vincent where he wants: front hands braced on the coffee table, knees on the couch, and with just enough arch to his back that Johnny can’t stop himself from delivering a heavy smack to Vincent’s ass. Vincent has the audacity to look offended at that, face flushed and brows pinched together but he makes no move to pull away. </p><p>Kerry whistles sharply, drawing Johnny's attention so that he doesn’t get smacked in the face with the bottle of lube when the other chucks it at him. Popping the cap Johnny coats his fingers in the substance before titling the bottle, watching as the lube trickles down Vincent’s ass. The younger man shivers at the feeling, ducking his head down as his groans lowly. </p><p>“Don’t know if he’ll need it, Ker.” Johnny runs his fingers against Vincent’s cunt, fingers teasing at his entrance. Between the lube and Vincent’s own slick he’s able to slide two fingers in with no resistance. “Nice and wet for us already and all he’s done is give shitty head.”</p><p>Smacking Johnny’s thigh Kerry scoots closer and takes back the bottle of lube, coating his hand before running it up and down Johnny’s dick a few times. </p><p>“Not trying to stroke your ego here Johnny, but you’ve got a big cock and, uh, no one needs anything shoved up them dry.” Vincent makes a sound in front of them, a series of whines and promises that he can take it, just give it to him, stopping only when Kerry delivers a quick swat to the ass. “Trust me, kid. No one likes a hardass.”</p><p>“Don’t call him a kid, fuck’s sake Kerry.” Grabbing onto Vincent’s hip with one hand he uses the other to line himself up, hips pushing forward as he drags the other back into him. The three of them groan in unison as Johnny enters him, pulling Vincent all the way back until he’s all the way in. Kerry runs a hand along Vincent’s lower back, offering a soft sound in comfort. Johnny waits until Vincent gives a nod, rocking his own self back into Johnny’s dick. </p><p>That’s all it takes. Grabbing onto Vincent’s hips with a grip he knows will be bruising Johnny starts a brutal pace, the sound of skink on skin filling the villa. Kerry presses himself against Johnny’s side, handing moving along his dick in time to Johnny’s thrusts. He hisses when Johnny removes a hand from Vincent’s hips, batting Kerry’s hand away and wrapping his hand around him, setting the pace.</p><p>Johnny keeps the pace, removing his hand from Kerry to brag at his hair, dragging him closer for a kiss. Their teeth clink together, Kerry biting down on Johnny’s bottom lip until he tastes copper. </p><p>For his part Vincent hangs on for the ride, rocking back to meet Johnny’s thrusts each time. The only break in his rhythm comes when Kerry sneaks a hand under him, fingers pressed against both his clit and his entrance, moving in counter-time with the thrusts. The coffee table rocks under him, scooting across the ground with each thrust. </p><p>“Yeah, like that don’t you?” Johnny laughs as Vincent nods, Kerry lightly patting his ass. “We’ll finish up here and then take you upstairs, where Kerry can eat you out nice and slow. Fuck you against the window when he’s done. Like that, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>Kerry and Vincent groan together at the idea, the former giving Johnny’s hair a pull to bite against his neck. This urges Johnny on, setting a brutal pace that leaves Vincent spewing out curses and demands for more. Johnny grabs Vincent with both hands, pulling the other back into each thrust while Vincent moves a hand to sneak in besides Kerry’s.</p><p>Picking up the pace Johnny’s eyes start to slip close, letting the feeling of the moment wash over him. He’s so fucking close, and-</p><p>And the coffee table slides away. </p><p>It all happens so fast that Johnny isn’t entirely sure what happened. Johnny and Vincent pitch forward, the former caught only by Kerry’s fast acting. He wraps his arms around Johnny’s shoulders, keeping him from hitting the floor. Vincent, however, is not so lucky.</p><p>He tumbles down, head smacking against the corner of the table. The motion rocks the table and the bottle of champagne tumbles down, spilling all over Vincent. If it wasn’t such a horrible situation Johnny would laugh; instead both he and Kerry are cursing, scrambling off of one another as they reach for Vincent, who cradles his head and lets out a groan.</p><p>“Fuck, Johnny, go get a towel or something. Let me see, Vinny, let me see.” Kerry bats Vincent’s hands away, cradling his head in his hands as he looks him over. There’s a splotch of red in the corner in his mouth and the champagne is causing some sparks from his cyberware. </p><p>“Not my name,” Vincent mumbles, Johnny catching sight of him batting Kerry’s hands away. Kerry takes the towel without complaint, tapping it lightly against Vincent’s mouth. </p><p>“Think it might be time to call the safeword and send him on his way.” Johnny mumbles, sitting down on the couch to watch the scene unfold. Vincent leans into the towel, letting Kerry pat him down.</p><p>“Think the safeword is already activated. Might be best to just go to bed.” Hefting Vincent up, Kerry braces him against himself and heads towards the stairs. “You coming?”</p><p>“We just going to call it because some doll got hurt? He’s probably been through worse.” Kerry flips him the bird, ignoring the way Johnny returns it. When it becomes evident that the night has come to an end Johnny groans, throwing his head back. Staring at the ceiling he counts to ten before standing, following after the other two. The lights flicker off behind him as he disappears into the bedroom.</p><p>--------</p><p>Johnny wakes well past noon, the sun already high in the sky and the thermometer on the daily calendar reading out a cool ninety degrees. Kerry’s air conditioner has already kicked on, been on a long time by the sound of it, and Johnny’s thankful.</p><p>He’s on his back, has been for most of the night if the ache in his lower back is anything to go by. Vincent is next to him, having claimed part of his human arm as his own and wrapping himself around Kerry. A cute scene, picture worthy if Johnny was that kind of man. With ease he manages to detach himself from the pile, rolling until he can plant both feet on the ground. Snatching up a pair of boxers he slides them on and shuffles towards the stairs, making his way down to the kitchen. </p><p>The coffee machine starts up when it senses his presence, the soft sound of brewing filling the silence. Johnny scrolls through his and Kerry’s schedule, noting that both are empty. Christmas, he reminds himself, that’s right. </p><p>There’s a shuffling sound from upstairs, footsteps that are too light for Kerry. Voices come down, their tone slightly raising, and Johnny assumes that the doll is angry about his chip. Not that he blames them per say, but he doubts this is the first time someone’s given his hardware a fuck up.</p><p>Behind him the coffee machine beeps and starts to fill up the cups. Above the voices start to raise. </p><p>“I said don’t fucking touch me!” Vincent’s outbursts echoes through the villa and Johnny pushes off of the countertop, breaking into a near sprint when he hears Kerry.</p><p>“Fuck’s sake! Just… Put the gun down, alright. Let’s talk about this, yeah?” Johnny takes the stairs two at a time, sliding into the bedroom at lightning speed.</p><p>Kerry is on the other side of the room, using his desk as cover.</p><p>Vincent is in the middle of the room, decked out in Johnny’s pants and with Johnny’s gun in hand.</p><p>“Someone tell me,” Vincent snarls, swinging the gun around to point at Johnny, “What the fuck is going on!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Merry Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i rewrote this two times i hate myself</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V wakes to warmth kissing his cheek, the type of warmth that comes from the sun. The feeling makes him sigh, pulling the blankets around him closer and burying himself into the pillow. There’s warmth at his back too, pressing fully against him and wrapping around his hip. Did he go home with someone last night? He must have because when he runs his hand along the sheet under him he can tell the thread count is too high even for his pay grade. He’s only a… He’s…</p><p>What is he?</p><p>Opening his eyes V is greeted not by the wall of a motel or anything similar, but rather by a wall of windows. Blue text scrolls across the window, informing him that the average temperature for the day would be seventy-seven and that, despite it being Christmas Day, Night City’s shops were expected to operate under normal business hours, personal choices not included. A tv screen pops up and a woman’s face appears.</p><p>
  <span>“Good Afternoon. I’m Gillean Jordan-”</span>
</p><p><span>Hi, Gillean</span>, V thinks, watching the woman as she talks but not hearing what she was saying. <span>I’m V and I’m… I don’t know.</span></p><p>Searching through his memories V looks for anything, the slightest sign or hint at who he was. Each time the same results come back: His name is Vincent and he goes by V. There’s nothing else, no family, no friends, not even a hint of what his favorite food is. Just… nothing. There’s nothing.</p><p>Behind him V’s bed partner moves, the arm around his waist tightening its grip and hips rutting softly against his, the unmistakable feeling of a dick grinding against his ass. His partner is male, he tells himself. Women are nice but men are what he’s attracted to. The man mutters something as V removes his hand from his waist, sliding away from the warmth of the bed. </p><p>Maybe it’s an issue with his cyberware. Starting a diagnosis V sits up, planting his feet on the floor as he glances around the room. It’s fucking filthy. If V knew who his partner was he’d smack them. There’s a pile of clothes off to the side that looks like it’s fresher than the rest and digging through it he pulls out a pair of leather pants. They’re styled like skinny jeans but whoever owns them is at least four waist sizes larger than V.</p><p>Eyeing the desk at the foot of the bed V gives the bed one more glance before making his way over to it, flipping through the junk on top. Gossip magazines and opinion articles about the best hair products of twenty seventy-seven. Drivel, honestly. Just who the hell did he go home with?</p><p>The drawers come next, bottom to top. The first takes the cake for being the most useful, filled to the brim with physical bills, some loose and others rolled together. A quick glance around the room marks him as clear and he grabs several of the loose bills, clumping them together nicely and then shoving them into the front pocket. Drug dealer, V gambles. He went home with a drug dealer.</p><p>That would explain the memory loss.</p><p>The middle drawer is a bust, nothing but notebooks and sheet music shoved in half-heartedly. A drug-dealing poet. Maybe he’ll get a poem of his own.</p><p>The top and final drawer proves to be much more useful, sniping the eddie drawer out of its spot. A Malorian grins up at him, its silver frame catching on stray bits of sun. V grabs it up, pulling out the magazine to make sure it’s loaded and keeps it in hand as he closes the drawer. </p><p>A chime echoes inside his head, signalling the end to the diagnostic run of his cyberware. </p><p><span>User data found</span>, V is politely informed. <span>Access Denied. Reason: Permissions not granted.</span></p><p>Something is wrong. The feeling had been worming its way into V’s chest since he woke up, but the cheerful way his cyberware had informed him that he was denied his own life solidified it. Stepping away from the desk V steps up to the windows, looking towards Night City’s skyline as he tries to pinpoint his location. North Oak, if he had to guess. The bright lights of Japantown stare up at him, dazzling even in the midday sun. </p><p>“You know, if you were going to rob me you could have at least given me a pleasant morning beforehand.” A heavy voice lofts up from behind him, causing him to jump. V spins around, tucking the gun behind him and placing his back against the window. From the bed a man watches him, presumably the one from before. Sheets pooled over his waist it’s clear to see that his morning wood has not yet abated, though he’s got enough sense to not be touching himself. Instead, his arms are crossed over his chest, a hand gesturing in V’s direction. </p><p>“What?” It’s the only thing he can think to say.</p><p>The man on the bed opens his mouth to say something before he curses, leaning over the side of the bed to grab at something. He comes back up with a phone, squinting at it for a moment before throwing it over head. It crashes somewhere on the bottom floor.</p><p>“Alright, yeah. Guess that makes sense. Our time,” He smiles, “Is up.”</p><p>V doesn’t say anything for a moment, simply blinks as he tries to process the other man’s words. Blinking V’s vision changes, the hazy red screen of a scan popping up. <span>Kerry Eurodyne</span>, it reads back to him. Ah. Fuck.</p><p>“You’re Kerry Eurodyne.” V says aloud.</p><p>“Uh. Yeah.” Eurodyne stands, grabbing a pair of boxer-briefs from the floor and sliding them on. “Fuck, I knew that I asked for discreetness but I didn’t think that it’d be so…” He gestures between himself and V.</p><p>“Anyway, if you were hoping for eddies to pay for your chip you could have just asked rather than raid the place like a shitty vice unit.” Eurodyne laughs at his own joke, making his way towards V. He stops short when V presses himself further against the window. Eurodyne looks as confused as V feels so if he’s going to count anything as a win it will be that.</p><p>“What?” Eurodyne laughs nervously, grabbing a cigarette case and a lighter out of the mess on the desk. Lightning up he offers one, frowning some when V shakes his head. “Look I’m all for some rough play in the moment but I’m not going to beat you just for existing. Shit, don’t tell me your dollhouse is one that beats you if you don’t bring home a tip. ‘Cause, uh, not sure my conscience could handle that.”</p><p>“Why would I go to a dollhouse?” V snarls, gun hand twitching behind his back.</p><p>“Uh, ‘cause you’re a doll?” Stepping towards him Eurodyne reaches out a hand, like he’s trying to pacify a skittish animal. “Look, not going to hurt you. Do you need me to call the cops or something?”</p><p>Calloused fingers brush his shoulder and V flinches away, the gun making an awful noise as it slides against the glass. Eurodyne pauses.</p><p>“Don’t touch me.” V warns, holding up his free hand as Eurodyne gets closer. </p><p>“Kid, I mean it. No one is going to hurt you.” He laughs, loose like he’s trying to ease the situation. Eurodyne reaches out; like before his fingertips are the only thing to touch him, feather-like touches against V’s skin that, in any other situation, might be considered comforting. But it isn’t that situation, and V… V has to look out for himself.</p><p>He lashes out, unoccupied hand coming up to push Eurodyne’s hand aside. His actions cause the other man to stumble back, his hip bumping into the desk and sending items tumbling to the ground. Eurodyne hisses an insult, backing away from V with his hands up; he continues stepping back, wide eyed look on his face when V pulls the gun from behind his back and points it at him. </p><p>The gun feels natural in his hand, albeit a little heavy. V centers it on Eurodyne’s chest, center mass, and judging by the way Eurodyne is looking at him he’s done something right. </p><p>“I said,” V starts, feeling his voice raise with a rage he didn’t know he had, “Don’t fucking touch me!”</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Moving to put the desk between the two of them Eurodyne holds up his hands in surrender, optics lighting up. Whether it’s to call the police or activate a security system, V isn’t sure, but he feels confident that he can down the other man before any harm comes to himself. “Just… Put the gun down, alright. Let’s talk about this, yeah?”</p><p>Heavy footsteps shake the floor and another man barrels into the room. He grips the door frame with a cybernetic arm, swinging himself around so that he stands almost directly in between the two other men. </p><p><span>Robert John  Linder, aka Johnny Silverhand, </span>his cyberware informs him. It continues before V can shut it off. <span>Known terrorist, responsible in the shooting of Arasaka Tower that resulted in at least ten deaths. Criminal status: wanted in Watson for a minor speeding infraction. Linder’s official statement: “Suck a dick, facist.”</span></p><p>“Someone tell me what the fuck is going on!” V demands as the information clears. Swinging the gun around he aims it at Silverhand. There is a clear threat in the room and it’s no longer Eurodyne. For his part, Silverhand straightens himself up, eyeing V over with open mockery. </p><p>“Kerry, you gonk,” Silverhand laughs, stepping farther into the room. “How the hell did you let a doll pull a gun on you? My gun, at that.”</p><p>“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Johnny but he has a gun!” Eurodyne gestures to V.</p><p>“Yeah, and he’s just a doll who-”</p><p>“I’m not a doll!” V shouts. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, between the weight of the gun in his hand and the condescending smirk on Silverhand’s face and the feeling of wrongness that settles deep, deep within his chest. There is no evidence that he is not a doll, no memory file to back him up or ID chip to verify his identity, but V knows. Sure as his name is Vincent, goes by V, he knows he isn’t a doll.</p><p>“Alright, fine.” Silverhand quips. “If you ain’t a doll you’re the most expensive joytoy I’ve ever met.” He looks to Eurodyne like he’s expecting the other man to joke, but Eruodyne just gestures back to V.</p><p>“Whatever. Just give me the gun and you can delta out of here, alright? I don’t want to deal with this shit right now.” Silverhand starts towards V, unshaken by the gun being aimed at his chest.</p><p>“I’ll shoot you.” V warns.</p><p>“Go ahead,” Silverhand smirks. “Fuck, I doubt you even know if it’s loaded or not.”</p><p>When it happens V feels like he’s outside his body, looking in. Like a shitty BD that he can’t stop. With a quick inhale V drops the gun, aiming at Silverhand’s feet and pulling the trigger. The bullet buries itself into the wooden floors, and vaguely V wonders what kind of rich gonk has real wooden floors in this day and age, and pieces fly into the air. Silverhand stumbles back as Eurodyne curses and dives behind the desk. If they were armed V has no doubts that at least Silverhand would have lunged at him once the smoke cleared from the barrel. As it stands, however, V is the only one armed and so he has the upper hand. </p><p>“I’m calling the police.” Eurodyne hisses from behind the desk. V can see his eyes glowing blue once again.</p><p>“I just want a car and a fucking shirt.” V snarls. The two other men share a glance with each other, a silent conversation that can end in so many ways. V doesn’t know if he believes in any god but if he does he hopes that he has their favor today.</p><p>Neither man does little more than watch V as he steps around the room, putting the bed between himself and Silverhand. Grabbing a shirt off the bed frame V keeps his eyes on the other two men, glancing away only briefly when he sees a staircase leading downwards. Taking the chance V all but throws himself down the stairs, footsteps heavy, and jumps over the railing at the last few steps. He hears the men above start to move, racing after him.</p><p>To his left he sees the opening into the rest of the house, a second staircase intersecting his view of the front door. To his right there’s a door. It’s a gamble but V goes right, angling his body to throw his shoulder against the door; it opens with little force, V barreling right on out and into the sun.</p><p>The taste of sand and dirt and the aftertaste of Night City fill his mouth, drying out his tongue and making V yearn for the safety of the shade. Night City is an oddity from this distance, a giant, breathing palace filled with millions upon millions of possibilities, while simultaneously being a concrete coffin in which no life escapes. Before he has a chance to ponder on why his thoughts are filled with such a bitter melancholy V feels the rush of wind next to his ear, a solid ‘pop!’ breaking his thoughts.</p><p>A squad of security bots marches towards him, their guns raised and point at him. If V weren’t so worried about getting shot he’d take a moment to laugh at the comical sight of one running at him while wearing a conical hat. </p><p>Spinning on his heel V takes as long as he can to eye the lineup of vehicles, trying to find the quickest, safest way to survive. </p><p>He sees the Nazaré out of the corner of his eye and makes a break for it. Sliding onto the bike his optics flare to life, looking for a way to breach the ICE that keeps the bike from starting up. As it turns out, he doesn’t need it: the bike flares to life, a pixelated smiley face showing on the interface panel. ‘Welcome back, Kerry!’ it reads happily as the bike roars to life. </p><p>Grabbing the grips V balances himself on the vehicle, steering it towards the main gate as it shoots off. The gate opens without a sound and V hears nothing but the wind in his ears, and maybe the faint shouting of men behind him. </p><p>North Oak passes by in a bright flash of colors, the natural greens and browns giving way to the blacks and greys of Night City. Car horns blare as V rushes past, taking the winding hills of North Oak too fast and nearly missing a semi truck as he follows the highway, cutting four lanes to take the exit for Kabuki. </p><p>V guides the motorcycle into a back alley as soon as he can, inching the vehicle along until it sits cozy behind a takeout stand. The owner moves back a curtain to look at him when the engine shuts off, shaking their head when V gives them his best smile and a thumbs up. V doesn’t think he looks like a gangoon, what with his baby blue t-shirt and leather pants but V isn’t sure how much time has passed between now and when V was last on the street.</p><p>Which was… V couldn’t say, but surely not long enough that average day gangbangers were dressing like freshly-cherry-popped joytoys who’d just left their first john.</p><p>Turning his attention to the motorcycle V skims his fingers over the main panel, frown tugging on his lips as he looks over all the information springing up at him. A panel pops open revealing a small female part port; V leans in close, peering at the piece, yanking himself back as he feels the bottom of his palm slide open. </p><p>A cord sneaks out a few inches before falling limp, the male part dangling over the edge of his palm. The more he stares at the cord the more memories come rushing back to him, though they are more the memories come back to him. They come in flashes, more muscle memory than actual memories, but he sees it clear enough that he pulls the cord out the rest of the way, plugging it into the motorcycle.</p><p>A sequence of numbers and letters settle behind V’s eyes, bright green against a black background. His eyes flick in his skull as he tracks down the pattern he needs, high chirps of approval echoing in his ears as he breaches the ICE. When he’s through V sees the prompts for several commands. V pushes them all aside until he finds one that’s labelled ‘GeoTracking’. He immediately shuts it off.</p><p>Even with the tracking disabled V decides to leave the bike. He could take it, find a way to peddle it for some eddies, but without a fixer to wipe the VIN and find a buyer all he’d get was chump change, even with the make and model. The shop owner gives him the stink eye as he passes, yelling something at his back as V pushes into the crowd and disappears. Let him deal with the bike, V thinks vindictively. </p><p>After a few blocks V stops, optics booting up as he scans over a digital map. The police station is just three blocks from here and V books it the moment he has a path, giving an apologetic wave to the car that clams on its breaks to avoid hitting him. </p><p>The police station is tall and imposing, a solid concrete block that makes the grey buildings surrounding it look vibrant. When V steps inside he is greeted not by mother sobbing and officers escorting criminals as one would assume from the television, but instead by the dull hum of an air conditioner and the groaning of unanswered telephones. A blonde woman sits behind the front desk, her bug-eyed green optics focused on the monitor.</p><p>She looks up only when V approaches and clears his throat.</p><p>“Welcome to the NCPD Watson District precinct. How may I help you today?” The worlds sound scripted, false in a sickly way. No sooner has she finished does the woman slap a tablet down on the counter in front of him. V glances at it, noting it as a standard information tablet, one that’s a plug-and-play for most cyberware.</p><p>“Yeah,” V starts, taking the tablet but not uploading anything, “I need to report a crime.”</p><p>The woman behind the desk makes a bored, agreeable sound. V takes it as a sign to continue.</p><p>“I, uh, woke up today and I don’t know who I am.” He lets the end of his sentence slow down, trying to put emphasis on his words in a way she might understand.</p><p>“Have you consulted your doctor?” The woman starts typing.</p><p>“No.” V tries again. “I don’t know who I am, so I don’t know who. My doctor is.”</p><p>“Mhm. Where were you when you woke up, sir?”</p><p>“In a house.” He pauses, words catching on his tongue as he thinks of whose house he was in. If the case went anywhere it could be a scandal for Eurodyne and Silverhand, and a target on his back. “With men who told me I was a doll.”</p><p>“Are you?”</p><p>“Excuse me?” V blinks at her. The woman blinks back.</p><p>“Are you a doll, sir?”</p><p>“Why would I be here reporting a crime if I was a doll?” The woman gives him a flat look, like he’s missing something more than his memory. “Look, all I know was that I woke up and men were telling me that I was a doll, but I’m not a doll. I think they fucked with my hardware or something because I don’t remember anything.”</p><p>“And how do you know you’re not a doll, sir?” A manicured nail reaches out, tapping the tablet. It only goes away when V links up to it. He watches as the information appears: AB-, one hundred fifty pounds, mild malnourishment. All normal things. Even his vitals read normal, though they were slowly rising from the way the charts were going.</p><p>“I’m not-” V makes a noise of frustration. “I just know, alright. I can feel it. I know what I am and what I’m not, and what I’m not is a doll.”</p><p>“Then what are you sir?” Grabbing the tablet from him she plugs it into her computer, humming softly as the information is uploaded. “Well, you aren’t in our sex worker registry. So you might be new.”</p><p>“I’m not new! I’m not- I don’t turn tricks for eddies!” V tries to keep the snarl out of his voice. The woman stares at him, brow raised and V steps back, feeling slightly cowed.</p><p>“All issues concerning sex workers are handled by Detective Wagner. She has a bit of a backlog at the moment, so I’ll need a name and way to contact you.” A new tablet comes out.</p><p>“How long will it take?”</p><p>“Well, with the current list it’ll be about six to eight weeks before she can contact you. Maybe sooner if someone drops a case.”</p><p>“What-” V steps back, looking around the lobby of the precinct. “Six to eight weeks?! Let me get this right: I come in here, telling you that I don’t know who I am and was probably sexually assaulted and asking for your help, and you’re telling me it can take you two months to even talk to me!?”</p><p>A shrug of anger rushes through V’s body and he slams forward, fingers digging into the grate that separates him and the woman. With as much fury as he can muster he glares down at her. </p><p>She returns the glare.</p><p>“Sir, I would like to remind you that you are in a police station so I suggest you sit your ass down.” Making her point she pulls out a pistol, resting it on the desk. “Now, second, how many people do you think live in Night City?”</p><p>“I don’t fucking know, what does that have to do wi-”</p><p>“Six million. Do you know how many of them are sex workers? About ten thousand. And every day we get about two hundred reports that one’s been raped, or robbed, or, like you, they weren’t willing to go into the profession. You know how hard that is to prove, even in this day and age? Not every whore on the street is smart enough to get BD equipment or the storage space to store memories for that long. So yes, sir, it will take a lot of time. Do you want my opinion?”</p><p>V hesitates, wringing his hands together before gesturing for the woman to continue.</p><p>“If you have someone to stay with, go to them. A parent, a sibling, anyone. Someone you trust or know. And if there isn’t one, you take what eddies you have and you get a hotel room for as long as you can.”</p><p>“What if I run out money?” He hadn’t counted how much he’d taken from the villa.</p><p>The woman hands him a few pamhlets, honest to fuck pamhlets made out of paper. Dark, bold letters stare up at, titles such as <span>Abuse and You</span> and <span>Leaving, and its Struggles</span>. Holding them in his hands feels so surreal and when V looks up at the woman he finds her giving him a tired, patient look as if she understands.</p><p>“There’s numbers on the back. They don’t have money to give but they can get you in at some safe houses and with the food banks if you need them. As for at least tonight the No-Tell Motel isn’t too far from here, maybe an hour’s walk into Kabuki. The A.I. there won’t ask questions and won’t give out information, so you should be safe.”</p><p>“Yeah,” V swallows tightly, fighting against the lump in his throat. “Do you have the time?”</p><p>“It’s about three-thirty.” Nodding V shuffles away from the desk, enjoying the last blast of AC before he steps out into the sun. Standing outside of the precinct V watches as cars pass, personal and professional and everything in between. No one stops, no one notices him. </p><p>Pinging the motel’s location on his map he starts for it, shoving his hands in his pockets. </p><p>Like the woman in the precinct had said the A.I. asks no questions when V turns up in the lobby, booking him a room for the night. It cheerfully offers him a two for one deal and only sounds a little down when he denies it. He’s pointed to room 304 and when he arrives he finds the door unlocked, locking it behind him. </p><p>The room is simple. A bed, a breakfast nook, and a room that’s most likely the bathroom. Soft red and pink lights dominate the room and V hates it. Pushing away from the entryway V makes for the bathroom, making sure to lock that door as well.</p><p>Stripping down he throws his clothes into the corner, shivering as the cool air touches his skin. Turning on the shower he steps inside and tilts his head back, letting out a soft sigh as the warm water washes over him. V stands there for a few minutes before clearing his throat, taking a step back from the water to look himself over. Dark, solid blocks of tattoos cover his shoulders and arms, stopping at his wrist on his left arm, the crook of his elbow on his right. The blocks have no pattern to them, broken apart by untattooed lines that cut through the black. The blocks travel down until his stomach, where they break apart into odd, interlocking knots. His right thigh is covered in a trail of flowers: hyacinths and lewisias and lotuses and fairy lilies and daffodils. The bright colors are a contrast to the black above. </p><p>Everything else seems in order. Ten toes, ten fingers, no surprise genitals or other body parts. </p><p>After washing off he steps out of the shower, he shuffles into the main room. Silence greets him as he skims it over, eyes stopping on a bright green panel by the door. Walking up to it he reaches out and presses it.</p><p><span>Skimmer’s Stuff!</span> A panel pops in front of him. <span>What do you need?</span></p><p>“A laptop?” V laughs incredulously. After this day has been there’s no chance this would be easy. It is, apparently, because ten seconds after he presses the button a knock comes at the door. Opening it slowly V finds no outside, just a small silver laptop resting on the floor. Cautiously V grabs it up, shutting the door behind him. </p><p>Placing the laptop on the table he opens it, the machine starting up soundlessly. V clicks through a series of pop messages to find the Net ad opens it. The search bar stares back at him tauntingly. </p><p>He starts simple: ‘night city missing person vincent’. The first link leads to the official NCPD missing persons page. He checks every page, every image, and gets back nothing. A quick search for the NUSA missing person page yields the same results. </p><p>According to the Net records he doesn’t exist. </p><p>V sits back in the chair, staring blankly at the laptop screen. He thinks over the day and all that has happened, unable to wrap his mind around it. </p><p>The more he thinks on it, the more he panics.</p><p>There’s nothing in his head, V realizes the deeper he digs. There’s memory of Night City and the oddities surrounding it: he knows the city, the districts, even the fucking mayor. He knows about the shooting of Arasaka Tower, supposedly done by Johnny Silverhand of all people, and not to drive through Charter Hill on Tuesdays after lunch time.</p><p>He knows his name and he knows how to handle a gun and… That’s it. There’s nothing else about him, nothing in his head and nothing on his cyberdeck.</p><p>Dropping out of the chair V curls into himself and covers his mouth, fighting against the bile and panic and scream that threaten to spill out of him. And as he thinks it over, V realizes two things.</p><p>He is alone, with no clue who he is or how he got here, and in a city that will quite literally chew him up and spit him out.</p><p>There is no one here for him. </p><p>There’s… His thoughts pause. Slowly he glances towards the bathroom, his pile of clothes just barely in sight.</p><p>He knows two people in this city, and he has a gun.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i just want<br/>the ability to transfer words from my mind to paper perfectly.<br/>no rewrites, no anxious edits.<br/>perfection</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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